Double Trouble
by Padfoot the Marauder
Summary: Blaise had always known this day would come. He knew he had to go, but he wasn’t leaving without first setting something straight. Canon BlaiseFanon Blaise


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**Author: Padfoot the Marauder**

**Rating: R**

**Summary: **Blaise had always known this day would come. He knew he had to go, but he wasn't leaving without first setting something straight. (Canon Blaise/Fanon Blaise) M/M, Non-con. One-shot.

A/N: If anyone cares, I've made a LiveJournal with some fics on it I couldn't post here. The link's in my bio.

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**Double Trouble**

Blaise Zabini stood in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, his indigo eyes fixed upon the door of the compartment on his left. As he waited for the compartment to open, he leaned his back against the wall, trying to find a good position that allowed him to keep his balance under the shakes and sways of the train. He ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair, being reminded that he had neglected to give it a much-needed trim before coming to school. Not that it mattered now; nothing mattered anymore. He could have left the house without any shoes on, and it would still not have mattered. Blaise sighed, thinking back on the time he had been on the other side of this strange situation, being the substitute instead of being the one being substituted.

It had only been a year ago since he had first boarded the Hogwarts Express, ready to start his fifth year at Hogwarts' school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had known he had to substitute for someone. He hadn't known why, yet he knew it had been necessary. Even though he had never been there before or had met any of these people, it had all seemed familiar somehow, as if he had led another life next to his own which he had then started to remember. Blaise supposed it had all been part of his natural instinct. He had been surprised though, finding out he was replacing a _girl_. Honestly, who would give the name 'Blaise', which is obviously a boy's name, to a girl? Girl-Blaise hadn't seemed to be shocked by his arrival, yet she definitely wasn't happy about it, as if she had secretly hoped he wouldn't show up anyway. Blaise hadn't really known what to do, except for handing her a tissue to dry her tears and patting her on the back a little. When the train had stopped at Hogsmead station, he had helped her unto the platform, shook hands with her and had watched her walk off into the opposite direction. Blaise hadn't seen her since.

He had thought back on that day often, because in the back of his mind always lured the knowledge that one day he would have to undergo the same. He didn't know why, or how, he just _knew_. He had always known this day would come; yet, he hadn't imagined it to have come so soon. He hadn't been here that long after all, only having arrived the previous term.

Unlike his predecessor, he wasn't sad about leaving; he was _angry_. She had had fifteen years of being Blaise, a term which some might consider a reasonably full life. _One_ year would not be considered a full life in any culture or society. It simply wasn't fair! Why should he be forced to go; he hadn't done anything wrong. Blaise had mostly kept to himself, studying, observing, and trying to do his best at simply being himself. Blaise wondered if that was the reason he had to go; was he too quiet?

It pained him that he would never get to experience the things most people got to experience. Right now, he just wished he had done more in the year that had passed. That 'hi' he had gotten from Hermione Granger, his secret crush, that had meant so much to him, now seemed so insignificant all of the sudden. He felt silly for fancying her, never even having had a conversation with her after all. He even doubted she knew he existed. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, she also had an intellect that had yet to be matched, and had a feisty personality that suggested she had more passion in her little pinkie than most people had in their entire bodies. She was simply fascinating.

Blaise wasn't stupid; he knew they could never be. He had seen the way she looked at that Weasley-boy and vice versa; it was only a matter of time until they would get together. Besides, Blaise had always known he wasn't here to stay, so it seemed silly to try and woo the girl he fancied only to pack up and leave once he got her to notice him. Still, that didn't mean he was any less infatuated by her. Blaise liked to watch her study, her brow wrinkled in concentration as she let the contents of the tomes seep into her mind. Even as he actually tried to study in the library, he couldn't help but let his gaze drift towards her, imagining what it would be like to touch her or simply talk to her.

During the final week of last term, when exams were over and everyone was out on the grounds, Hermione had been the only person in the library, aside from Blaise whom naturally was there too. She had passed his table as she exited the library, and before Blaise could stop himself, he had said 'hi' to her. She had turned around and had looked at him somewhat startled at first, but then she smiled at him and kindly said 'hi' in return. Blaise had been elated about that 'hi' all summer. Right now, he wished he had simply grabbed her and snogged her silly. Yes well, too late for that now, he thought bitterly.

The hard thing was that this wasn't simply giving up his life; he was handing it to someone else. He wondered what he would be like, his replacement. Blaise knew he shouldn't vent his anger on him (or her), knowing how he had once been in his position after all, replacing the one forerunning him. He was planning to take this like a man and leave with his head held up high.

Suddenly, the doors to the compartment were thrown open. He saw Goyle emerge from the compartment, punching his way through the second-years obstructing his path. Crabbe followed in his wake, passing by, until Blaise came face to face with _him_. They had never met before, yet he knew it as him.

"You're still here?" the boy said haughtily.

"Yes," Blaise replied bluntly, unable to ignore the boy's rudeness. "I thought it would be nice to exchange a few words."

"Fine," he said in a bored tone of voice, entering the empty compartment Blaise held open for him.

Blaise couldn't help but notice that his successor was really handsome; he was tall, black, had high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes. Was that why he was being replaced; he wasn't handsome enough? Or was it simply because he was Caucasian? If it was either of those reasons, than it couldn't be considered anything less than discrimination. But Blaise couldn't know for sure, now could he?

"So, what do you want to talk about?" the other Blaise asked offhandedly.

"I was actually kind of wondering what your plans were," Blaise asked. "You know, in taking over my life."

"Probably about the same as yours," the boy shrugged. "Only better."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

By now, Blaise was very doubtful that he was going to like this boy. He was haughty and very disrespectful to him. When Blaise had replaced the one before him, he at least had had the courtesy to show respect and consideration, something this person clearly wasn't planning to do.

"It means, that I am planning to actually _do_ some things, instead of sitting back and watching others," he said pointedly. "For gods sake man, how were you ever expecting to get laid if none has seen you since your name was called during the Sorting Ceremony?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, feeling somewhat offended.

"Trust me, I'm planning to do far more than just saying 'hi'," he said mockingly. "Mudbloods are known for being good lays, since they have no purpose for anything else."

A loud 'THUMP' rang through the carriage as Blaise lodged the other by against the wall, his arm tightly pressing against his throat.

"_Don't you ever speak about her like that again_!" Blaise growled.

"Oooh, touchy," he taunted, seemingly unworried about being assaulted. "Okay, what about this; I promise I'll be gentle the first time I shag her. Who knows, perhaps I'll even let her come."

Before Blaise fully realised what he was doing, his fist had collided with the other boy's nose. He watched his head bumping against the wall, his face crumpling up in pain and a trickle of blood gushing from his nose. Blaise's hand was throbbing painfully, yet he ignored it, continuing to press the other boy against the wall.

"_Fuck, mate! What did you do that for?_" the other Blaise yelled.

"Promise me you'll never touch her!"

"No," he replied spitefully, glaring at Blaise in a way as if he was tempting him to strike him again. "I don't think I will."

Blaise was so fuming he was sure he was on the verge of breathing fire. He had never felt so angry before. People usually left him alone, so this sort of thing had never happened to him in the past. Every fibre of his being wanted to strike the other boy again, punch him to a pulp, but he realised that hurting him wasn't going to help him at all. Then, for the first time in his existence, he felt that stereotypical Slytherin malevolent cunningness kick in, which he had always thought he lacked.

He thought he saw a trickle of fear flash across the new Blaise's face as he reached down and unzipped the other boy's trousers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Blaise knew this was wrong, yet the anger boiling inside his veins overpowered that little voice that was his conscience. It was bad enough that this kid was taking his life; he'd be damned that he'd let him take his woman.

Blaise cocked an eyebrow as he felt his fist enclose around the other boy's semi-erect cock.

"Does someone have a thing for pain?" Blaise sing-songed.

"Shut up!" he spat, but suddenly gasped loudly when Blaise squeezed his erection rather roughly.

"Swear you will never touch her!" Blaise commanded, his hand slowly stroking his cock, feeling it harden into his fist.

"No!"

"Swear it!" Blaise said, the speed of the movements increasing. If this were any other situation, he would probably be worried if he were doing an okay job. He had only ever touched himself in this fashion, and now couldn't feel how it felt for the other boy and adjust his touches accordingly. But in this situation, he couldn't care less how it felt for him; if his hand was too dry, his strokes too rough or his grip too tight.

"Fuck you!" he growled, obviously trying to keep himself as composed as he could.

"I believe that's what I'm doing, after a fashion," Blaise said mockingly.

He was zealously jerking him off now. He heard the other boy whimper under his aggressive touch. His chest was heaving, straining against his white shirt. His pants slid off his legs, falling in a heap around his ankles, baring two dark, muscular legs.

"Swear it!" Blaise said again, fisting his cock even tighter to a point he knew it must hurt.

"Oh fuck!" he yelped, throwing his head back and bumping it against the wall. "Fine!" he snarled in defeat, his voice coming out in breathless wheeze. "Fine, I _swear_ I won't touch her! For fuck's sake, she's only a Mudbl-!"

He never finished that sentence. His eyes shut tightly as he came, his upper body arched against Blaise's as his seed spurted into his hand. Men are all the same, Blaise thought triumphantly, watching the other boy coming apart before him; when it comes to preserving their penis, they would give up anything.

Blaise released him from his grip, leaving him in a panting mess against the wall.

"Scourgify," he said, pointing his wand at his hand and cleaning off the other Blaise's semen.

"Nice to have come to an agreement with you," Blaise said cheerfully to the debouched-looking boy who was trying to pull up his pants as quickly as possible.

"Right," he replied angrily, fastening his belt and glaring at him as if he had just slapped him across the face.

Blaise gave him one last triumphant smirk, and exited the carriage. As he stepped off the train and inhaled the cool night air, he couldn't help but smirk. The new Blaise might be handsome and verbal; the old Blaise had still managed to prove his worth. Even if no one else would remember him, he was sure _he_ always would. Blaise grinned; he couldn't help but feel rather good about himself. It's true what they say; nothing feels as good as giving yourself a good wank.

He took one final look at the castle, knowing he would not see it again, and then turned away from it; strolling off into the night, never to return.

THE END


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